“How many now?” his cousin inquired.
The comte considered thoughtfully. “I think it is eight sons, and four daughters.”
“You have always been a man to do things in the grand manner,” the earl responded. “But it is time, Guy-Paul, to take a wife. I recommend it. And you are two years older than I am, after all.”
“Wine, my lords,” Philippa said, holding out a tray. She had listened carefully, and overheard everything the two men had said.
“Sit down and join us,chérie,”the comte invited her, and she did.
“I was not aware my husband had relations in France,” she murmured, and sipped at her own wine. There was so much she didn’t know about Crispin, other than the fact they had a great deal of enjoyment from each other in their bedsport.
“The common ancestor had two sons,” the comte told her. “The eldest, of course, was his heir. The younger went with Duke William of Normandy when he claimed England. He was rewarded for his service with lands there.”
“But,” the earl took up the tale, “the two branches of the family have never grown apart. We have fought on opposite sides against one another in the service of our kings. We have fought side by side on crusade. I spent two summers as a boy here in France with the St. Claires, and Guy-Paul spent two summers in England with me. Our women have married their cousins now and again. Each generation corresponds.”
Philippa nodded. “I like that your families have always kept in contact with each other. Once my mother’s family had a similar situation, but they did not remain close. Only a fortunate coincidence brought us back together again.”
“You are one of the queen’s women, Crispin tells me,” the comte said.
“I have been a maid of honor for four years,” Philippa responded. “When we return to England, however, the queen has said she is dismissing me so I may do my duty as my husband’s wife, and give him heirs. She did not do so sooner because she knows how very much I wanted to come to France with her, and how I will miss my service.”
“Then you like this court of your King Henry,” he replied.
“It is the finest court in all the world!” Philippa said enthusiastically.
“How shall you bear not being a part of it?” he asked slyly.
“I cannot, but I will,” Philippa responded. “My father was in service to the Tudors from the time he was six years of age. My mother has husbanded a large estate, and made it more profitable since she was three years of age. Duty, monsieur le comte, has been bred into me. While I shall miss being with the queen, my duty now is to my husband, and I have never failed in my duty.”
Guy-Paul St. Claire was slightly taken aback by Philippa’s statement. She looked so young. So delicious. So female. To learn she was of far sterner stuff than she appeared was quite surprising. More interesting, his cousin looked happy and pleased by his young wife’s words. “Madame, I salute you,” he said, “and Crispin, I believe I shall envy you, which I have certainly never done before.”
Philippa arose from her chair. “My lords,” she said, “I shall leave you to renew your acquaintance. I am quite fatigued with all our travels. Lucy, attend me,” she called to her tiring woman. Then she curtseyed to the two men and moved through the brocade curtain that separated the two halves of the pavilion.
“She is so young, but so fierce,” the Frenchman noted. “Is she as fierce in your bed, cousin? If you answerouiI shall indeed be envious.” He grinned.
“Oui,”the earl said, returning the grin.
The comte de Renard looked pained. “It is intolerable,” he said. “Tell me how you gained such a lovely little treasure, cousin.”
The earl explained, and when he had finished his relative shook his head, but Crispin St. Claire only chuckled. “If you would seek among the wealthy bourgeois you could probably find just such a wife, Guy-Paul, but I suspect you are too lazy to even try. Still you will have to eventually, mon cousin.”
“Perhaps after this spectacle has run its course,monchou,” the comte replied. “I have no duties other than to be amusing, which is why I am here. Francois has brought half the people your king has. I suppose being the superior, he feels he need not try as hard as your king Henry.”
The earl laughed. “Do not say such a thing aloud again, Guy-Paul. Any other Englishman hearing you would take umbrage and challenge you to a duel, which you would, of course, win, and then there would be merry hell to pay. All my king has done he has done in order to impress upon your king and the French that he is the superior one. Remember that one day his daughter will be France’s queen.”
The comte de Renard shrugged. “I wonder if that will indeed happen, or if the English queen will get her way to see her daughter wed to Spain. These betrothals are but pieces on a game board, cousin, and you know it as well as I do.”
“Indeed, but for now the princess Mary and the young Dauphin are matched,” the earl noted. “England and France are lovers.”
“With Spain waiting eagerly in the wings,” the comte said.
“Charles must wed long before our little princess is ready for marriage,” the earl responded. “His responsibilities are great.”
The two men continued to speak back and forth for some time before they finally parted, agreeing to meet again. The meeting of the two kings, which was the summer’s first great event, would not occur for another two days. It was a choreographed event that had been carefully planned. The two kings spoke through their messengers. Cardinal Wolsey was the king’s emissary. Each time he rode out he was accompanied by fifty mounted gentlemen in crimson velvet with fifty ushers bearing gold maces. His gold cross with its bejeweled crucifix went ahead of Cardinal Wolsey, who rode upon a magnificently caparisoned mule, surrounded by his priests. One hundred mounted archers brought up the rear of his train. The cardinal’s great entourage was much talked about.
Though the French had attempted to prevent and discourage it, many spectators came to drink the English king’s wine and to gawk at the great assemblage of royalty and its two courts. Beggars and peddlers appeared at the tents of the courtiers. The earl’s Peter had to hire two young men from the nearby village to guard his master’s belongings. He was not pleased, for he could not be certain that they would not steal from the earl and his wife in the end.
Finally the day of the first meeting came. It was June seventh, the feast of Corpus Christi. Artificial hills had been erected at either end of the entrances to theval d’ore, or golden valley, as it was called. In late afternoon the trumpets sounded. The English rode out from their encampment, the French from theirs. Each king was accompanied by a party of his courtiers. Henry wore cloth of gold and silver. It was heavily bejeweled. He had a black feathered bonnet and his Order of the Garter collar. His bay stallion was hung with golden bells that tinkled, and he was attended by his Yeomen of the Guard. The French king, not to be outdone, was as splendid in jewel-encrusted cloth of gold and silver. He wore white boots on his large feet, and a black cap. The French monarch was escorted by his Swiss Guards.
